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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25594987">Disease</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrib_eyeSteak/pseuds/Scrib_eyeSteak'>Scrib_eyeSteak</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Bylethea Week 2020 [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cock Warming, Death, F/M, Naked Cuddling, Nonactive Sex, Trauma, War</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:35:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,525</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25594987</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrib_eyeSteak/pseuds/Scrib_eyeSteak</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Fog of War lies thick around her...and its only a matter of time before she chokes.</p>
<p>Part of #ByletheaWeek2020. Day 4 - Ashes and Thorns.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dorothea Arnault/My Unit | Byleth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Bylethea Week 2020 [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1849879</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Disease</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Please be aware - this is NOT like my usual faire of works, and is an attempt to capture the aspect of the War that would surely wear down on Dorothea and to a minor extent Byleth. However, there is some risque action near the end, so usual discretion is advised.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p>
  <strong> <em>I have a discord now! Come on over to <span class="u"><a href="https://discord.gg/rPhkz4G">The Steakhouse </a></span> and join us. See you there :)</em> </strong>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>“Thoron!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A devastating crack tore across the battlefield and into the unfortunate knight that had dared approach her. Dorothea winced at the inhuman, bloodcurdling screams that echoed out of the armor before it mercifully crumpled to the ground and was lost to the battleground.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She didn’t really know where she was - it was just another battle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“More fighting,” she sighed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She saw something tearing across the hellscape surrounding her - something that flashed through the fires and broken bodies. Ashes swirled and weaved into a specter of death and destruction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dorothea winced and held her now damp side. She didn’t see the stain in her dress, but it hardly mattered. Her spare hand crackled to life as she eyed the Kingdom archer and battalion charging in on her. She levied her hand</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll leave you breathless...METEOR!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The charge halted as the heavens themselves crashed upon them. The mage blinked impassively, unable or unwilling to let her true emotions well from the fractured, haggard mask of stoicism and apathy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There were no survivors - only the dead, and the walking, collapsing corpses that screamed in the pit. The fires reflected in her dull eyes as she lowered her hand. She turned away from the archer, even as the girl reached her hand out in desperation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“T-Thi-thi….”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dorothea froze. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That name. She remembered the girl that called her that, from way back in Garreg Mach. a happy, peppy Blue Lion student that she’d ashamedly never even asked the name of. And now...now she never could. She flung her head back in desperation, but it was already too late. The girl was gone - another body to rot into the ground.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Like glass, she shattered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Screams cast to the heavens, lost amongst the hellish symphony of death and inferno. Tears poured down her cheeks as she bawled into her sleeves. From her shrieking throat passed the damnations of the fallen, the lamentations of the living, and the unanswered pleas to cure man’s insanity.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was alone in hell - utterly detached from the world around her. Ignorant of the brawler looming over her. Ignorant of the look of pity from behind his mask as he raised his hands and prepared to end things quickly….</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dorothea!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hrk!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She winced, hearing another’s life choked out as a shadow passed over her. Dorothea reluctantly raised her head and her tear-soaked eyes as she gazed into the ashes themselves. Death, in the form of a man who looked at her with eyes of concern through a mask of steely resolve.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“P-Professor.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Byleth cradled her taxed body as he eyed the forces surrounding them. He held her with one hand, hugging her close against his own bloody body as the Sword of the Creator danced and glowed around him. In the dim, smoky sunset they didn’t see combatants or elite soldiers of the hated Empire that heralded death in their wake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They saw only the Ashes that protected Thorns.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then they saw no more.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Ba-booooom</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ngh!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dorothea winced as the bandage tightened around her midsection. She gingerly caressed it, along with the rest of her nicked, bare body beneath the heavy blanket protecting her wet form. Gooseflesh struck from her skin, but the chill was enough to remind her that she still breathed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Perhaps that was a blessing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The mage shifted and hissed. Her wound wasn’t deep, but it did make it hard for her to move, much less walk. So when the storm washed over the bloody, fiery battlefield and had prompted the victorious Empire to fall back, it left her behind. Behind with the one man, she could unfathomably trust in this broken, beaten world. Especially in a state of nudity.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dorothea.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She glanced up from the crackling fire and looked over at the door. The lodging they picked was surprisingly intact despite the ravages that had razed the town. Rain leaked in from a shattered window, but the furniture was intact, and the fireplace kept her bare body warm. But nowhere near as warm as Byleth could.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stood in the doorway - as bare as her, and holding some bowls of simple soup. His wounds were far greater than hers, and he had the bandages to show it. Yet his time as a mercenary showed through as he effortlessly walked across the room and gently placed the bowl at her feet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dorothea nudged forward, out of her blanket as she lifted a hand to scoop up some broth. Her hand trembled before the spoon dropped back into the bowl. Her back shivered as the blanked draped dangerously down her bare shoulders. It would’ve dropped, if not for the patient hand of her attentive lover. “T-Thank you, Professor,” she mumbled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Byleth’s eyes narrowed at her meek voice. But more than that was what she called him - ‘Professor’. They’d done away with those epithets when they reunited and came clean with their comrades. From there it was all manner of flowery words and platitudes, and especially names.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But never Professor, never Pupil. Not anymore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dorothea.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She winced at his tone - not accusatory, but certain knowledgeable. She struggled to eat more, but her hand kept shaking before it came to her parched lips. He kept his hands on her shoulders, trying to encourage her to keep going. But eventually, after multiple failed ploys, the mage humbly asked for his aid.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hold me, please.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Byleth nodded and picked her up. Her breath hitched as he gently, smoothly placed her on his lap before resetting the blanket around them both. She felt his loins caress her thighs, but made no move to join together. This was hardly the time for fraternization - not even the much-needed release that could come after a long, harrowing battle. Neither one was seeking companionship of flesh, but of heat - of touch, and emotion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And sustenance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her lover took the spoon from her hand and gently brought it to her lips. She sipped it and let the broth slide down her throat. Byleth waited until she swallowed before offering her more. Light, tepid sips mixed with the steady drone of rain and the sharp cracks from the fire. The duo stayed together, even after he set the now-empty bowl aside to his still-full bowl.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Byleth held her close as they stared into the fire. A small, minute fraction of the infernos that waged all across the lands. Dawn to Dawn, more fighting came - more death. It didn’t matter who they were - friend or foe, rich or poor, regardless of who they’d served and bled for. They rested as one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...P-Professor. Did we do the right thing?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He leaned over her shoulder. She glanced at him and his shimmering verdant hair before glancing back into the fire. Dorothea brought her knees up to her chest as she mumbled in the dark. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I...I don’t know anymore. I don’t know if siding with Edelgard, or Rhea, or anyone would’ve been right. If it leads to this-” she gestured out at the ashen remains of the once-bustling city. “-then what good does it do anyone?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Byleth didn’t have an answer for her - she knew he couldn’t answer. Not even the years as a mercenary and a legend could give him the merit to speak the gospel of the merits for war. Not even the seemingly divine genesis of his unshackled power could possibly give him the authority to justify the sins that weighed her down. He was a mere man - as flawed and imperfect as any other. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> man.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hissed as he felt her hand wrap around his dick Dorothea shifted her hips and pushed his half-mast cock in her loins. Byleth blinked at her sudden move and was about to protest - this was not the time for such antics, not with her wounds. But she cut him off as she explained, “I just...I want to feel you, Byleth - please.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded and hugged her close. Her loins squeezed around his shaft, but neither made any move to start thrusting. They merely waited - watching the fire, hearing the rain, and waiting till the sweet mercy of slumber could claim them both.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Empire could burn in the holy flames of a wrathful god. The Kingdom could shatter under the cold, uncaring weight of a world gone mad. The Alliance...what little remained amongst the broken remains, could be swept away. And the Church could roll over and succumb to the dusts of time as the world’s bloody march forged on. Sothis have mercy to those that have fallen and damn the ones who yet stood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But it didn’t matter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>None of that mattered- not this night, or any night. All that mattered, in the end, was them. The girl who had come from nothing yet found solace in Flames, and the man that could caress the fragile stem beneath the harsh thorns of a wilted Rose. two weary souls that could only cling together and pray to live just one day more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That could be enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had to be enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Poppies Grow</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This may have been...a bit somber, and not fitting in my usual tastes. but I knew I had to go this way for this particular piece, and I hope it does even this unpleasant, but inevitable aspect of Byleth and Dorothea's relationship the justice it deserves.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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